The Unknown
by dilletante2
Summary: An AU to "The Three Garridebs" In response to bcbdrums' challenge to write an alternate ending.
1. Chapter 1

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... In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and fired two shots. The wind knocked out of me, I doubled over, grabbing my stomach. There was a crash as Holmes pistol came down upon the man's head. As I sank to the floor, I had a vision of him collapsing with blood running down his face, while Holmes rummaged him for weapons.

Next I knew, I heard a sound, a whistle from far away. I saw light and a blur of colors.

"Watson!! Wake up! Oh God, WAKE UP! HELP! Someone help!"

A searing pain brought me to my senses. Holmes was tying his shirt around my waist. His hands were covered in blood.

Turning my head, I saw Evans still lying on the floor. I tried to speak, each intake of breath like a stab.

"The gun…"

I looked up into his eyes. His face had lost all color, and his voice quivered,

"It's alright…don't talk." His grey eyes flooded with tears. It was worth a wound, even fatal, to know the depth of loyalty and love that lay behind that cold mask.

"Oh Watson, I'm so sorry. I should have never let you come." He blew his police whistle again, and cursed. "Why don't they come?

Slowly lifting my head, he slid his jacket underneath. He glanced uneasily at Evans and picked up the guns.

"I have to leave you, just for a moment. I need to find help. I'll be back. Stay awake…"

As Holmes ran outside the door, I heard a noise across the room. Evans had gotten up and with a yell, rushed out as well. I heard a scuffle, and shot, and then nothing. Nothing!

The silence was maddening. A horrible possibility flooded my mind. Was Holmes lying shot out in the hallway? Holmes had checked Evans for weapons. What happened?

Thinking I might be able to pull myself out there, I struggled to sit up. I saw the shirt was strained crimson. Just as I was getting upright, my head swam, and I fainted once again.


	2. Chapter 2

It was taking forever. Where were they? I'd blown my police whistle several times, but no police came or even any neighbors. Hadn't anyone heard the gun shots? I knew the best thing to do was go get help myself, but I was wary of leaving Watson alone, and worse, alone with the unconscious Evans.

Time was running short; Watson was losing blood and needed medical help immediately. I pushed my jacket under his head, and imploring him to stay awake; grabbed the guns and hurried out.

I was almost at the doorstep of the house when I heard a yell behind me. Turning around just in time to see Evans lunge, I shot him in the chest. He fell forward reaching out for me.

I pushed him away, threw the guns onto the floor, and hastened outside.

A man and a young boy in a cart were heading up the road. Yelling at them to stop, I rushed out into the middle of the street. The driver pulled the horses up just a yard from where I stood.

"There's been a shooting! I need help moving an injured man!"

Saying nothing, he handed the reins to the boy, and jumped out. Racing back into the house, I stepped over the body of Evans and went into the room. Watson lay unconscious, but he was still breathing…

Out in the hall, the cart driver was standing over the body of Evans. I called out to him,

"In here man!" He ran into the room and let out a gasp.

"Quick, we need to get him to a doctor!" the man nodded and assisted me in lifting him. Watson remained unconscious as we carried him to the cart.

The ride to the hospital was horrible. The closer we got to the hospital, the worse the traffic became. Watson never stirred. The bleeding had slowed, but his breathing was irregular and labored.

We finally arrived and carried Watson to the entrance. Seeing us coming, the staff ran out with a stretcher and took him inside. I dispatched the driver and child to Scotland Yard with a note for Lestrade.

I was told Watson needed surgery to remove the bullet. I assume I looked terrible, because it wasn't long before I was offered a place to wash and a shirt.

Hours went by. I began to pace back and forth. What if organs were damaged? Had he lost too much blood? Would I lose my best friend?

My best friend…my only friend, and it would be my fault. I had known the seriousness of the case. I had known how dangerous Evans was. And like a fool, I let Watson come with me anyway.

Finally a doctor came out. His face showed nothing of the fate of my friend.

"Well?? How is he?"

"Well…"


	3. Chapter 3

A knock on the door woke me. _Ughhh, morning already? _I lifted my head. Mrs. Hudson came in with a tray.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson."

"It's two in the afternoon Doctor." Had I really slept that long?

"Here is something to eat, and your paper," she said as she set the tray on a little table by my chair.

Then she opened the curtains, letting in a flood of blinding sunlight.

_Ohhhh..._

I pulled myself up to sitting with a sigh. It had been four weeks since the shooting and still the slightest movements were painful. Why hadn't Holmes been up to see me yet? By now he would have been upstairs to check on me at least three times_. _

Of course, it was Tuesday, the day of the inquest. It had been delayed until I was able to give a coherent statement of the incident.

"What time did Holmes head out?"

"About nine o'clock. Are you getting up today?"

"Oh yes, I want to get downstairs to the sitting room." She furrowed her brow.

"Don't worry Mrs. Hudson. I'll wait until after Holmes gets back of course."

"Alright," she said, "I'll leave this here then."

After she left, I got out of bed and slowly stepped over to my chair by the window. While I ate, I sat looking out onto Baker Street. Pedestrians were taking advantage of the sunshine; carriages and cabs filled the street. I saw one little cab pull up in front of our door. Moments later I heard the sound of the door downstairs. Holmes was back.

He practically ran up the stairs, throwing the door open.

"Watson, you're up!" he smiled. Was he cheerful because he _was_ cheerful, or because he wanted me to be? He sat down on the bed. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine, but…well, tell me about the inquest! How did it go?

"Well as I still have my liberty, I'd say it went rather well."

He smirked, lit a cigarette, and began a very long, very detailed story which boiled down to him being found not guilty of any wrong doing in the matter.

"…so all that remains is for you to be well." He looked at me with searching grey eyes. "Are you sure you want to go downstairs today? The doctor said you needed to rest."

"I'll rest downstairs. I need to get moving again."

A few moments later, we were on the staircase, with Holmes in front of me in case I fell.

I gritted my teeth and started down. Each step was a searing pain. Holmes walked backwards, not taking his eyes off of me. He counted the steps all the way down.

"…9, 10, 11, almost done, Here we are, last one."

That last step was much farther down than the others. I let out a groan. He came forward and grabbed my arm.

"I'm alright!" I said irritably. He frowned.

"I'm just trying to help!" I sighed.

"But I'm alright. I just need to sit down."

I made my way into the sitting room and sat down. Holmes sat by the fireplace and lit his pipe. He sat smoking silently for some time.

"Wonderful weather outside. I can't wait until I'm well enough for a walk," I began.

"You would be out there now if it weren't for my stupid blunder."

"If I recall correctly, you weren't the one who shot me."

"Yes, but you…well either of us really, shouldn't have gone there in the first place. I knew the danger, and I put you in it anyway."

"It's alright."

"No it isn't." I sighed.

"Look, if you want me to blame you, fine. I blame you. I also forgive you. You can make it up to me by coming for a stroll in the park as soon as I can make it out."

Holmes glanced at me, startled for a moment. Then he smiled.

The End


End file.
